A Wizard Did It
by MercuryPilgrim
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles starring our favourite rebel mage and his partner, the esteemed Champion of Kirkwall. FemHawke/Anders
1. One, Two, Three

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Dragon Age or any of its affiliates. Anything that you recognise is property of its respective owners. Any relations to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

_Base/s:_ Dragon Age

_Title:_ A Wizard Did It

_Summary:_ He didn't do it. Honest. A series of oneshots and drabbles starring our favourite rebel mage and his partner, the esteemed Champion of Kirkwall. FemHawke/Anders

_Music used for inspiration: _Cleaning My Gun, Border Reiver, Speedway at Nazereth - Mark Knopfler

* * *

><p><em>1. Blonde<em>

Anders threw down the paper with a huff. It landed on the writing desk and stopped, writing side up, mocking him.

He narrowed his eyes at it and was tempted to throw the damnable thing into the fire. Or set it on fire himself. It was very tempting. He was tired, his back was killing him and the numbers on the page were blurring together like tar. He was less than pleased. Why, in the name of the Maker, did Hawke insist on accepting jobs like this when she had more than enough money to spare?

"I don't get it."

He grumbled, not pleased at having to admit it.

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"What's not to get?"

His glower increased in intensity and he waved in the direction of the paper.

"That!"

"What about it?"

He turned his gaze on the woman sitting a few meters away from him. There was a thick book in her lap that she was writing in and a quill was dangling from her fingers.

"I don't _get _it." He repeated. He ground the heels on his palm into his eyes and let out a frustrated groan. "Ugh. I hate numbers."

A little smile graced the woman's lips as she set her book aside and walked over, leaning down to study the sheet that was giving the mage so much trouble.

"What's gone wrong?"

"No idea." He grunted, hoping he would discover an ancient secret that allowed him to light things on fire but just _looking_ at them. She made a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat as she squinted over the long list of numbers.

"Oh all right. By my calculations, Ser Rothering has been at the Blooming Rose every day for three hundred and _seventy nine_ days a year."

Hawke blinked.

"Anders..."

"I know!"

She sighed.

"Run through it."

He did so.

Halfway through his explanation of why fifty six just had to share into one hundred and sixteen, Hawke started sniggering.

Loosing track of where he was and grinding to a halt, he looked up and at the woman who was holding back laughter with her hand and some admirable willpower.

"What?"

His question, one that he didn't find all that funny, set her off into belly laughs. As much as he enjoyed her laughter, he would have preferred it wasn't directed at him.

"_What?_"

The laughter died down into light giggles and she shook her head.

"Oh Anders." She picked up the paper and handed it to him, then put her finger on one particular part of the writing. "That's the _date_."

He was sure that his face must have looked very stupid as he stared at the list.

Hawke sighed fondly, her hand winding its way into his hair and playing with the little ponytail tied back with a leather strip.

"You are such a blonde." She said, before she yawned.

She bent down and kissed him on the brow, smiling as he stared at the paper before heading for the door out of the library.

* * *

><p><em>2. Chef<em>

If it was one thing that Hawke just couldn't get over, it was that she couldn't cook to save her life.

Another thing she couldn't get over was that Anders, rebel mage, occasional purveyor of off colour humour, former Grey Warden and sporter of constant five o'clock shadow, could cook better than her mother.

It just wasn't _fair._

So when she stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen in the morning and smelt the scent of breakfast, she scowled and resolved to eat nothing but toast.

But what if there was bacon?

Her scowl deepened and she trudged into the homely room. As usual, Anders was up before her and standing in front of the stove, blocking her view of whatever it was he was creating. She flopped into a chair and when he greeted her she grunted her reply. Even though she couldn't see his face, she just _knew_ he was smiling. Ass.

Fumbling, she poured herself a mug of hot water, added a spoonful of dried leaves and a dash of milk.

She spied toast sitting in its rack. It was perfectly golden and still hot.

Was even his _toast_ perfect? Ugh.

She snatched a slice and buttered it, biting into it as though it was personally wronged her.

She stared sullenly at the mages back and idly wondered what he would look like in one of her mother's frilly aprons or a pinafore. The thought made her snort and take a quick sip of her scalding tea to stop the chuckles.

Feeling more awake now she had tea in her system, she noticed that there was a small boat filled with golden syrup sitting innocuously on the big wooden table.

Oh no. He couldn't have.

He turned and gave her a crinkle eyed smile.

In his hand he held a large, heavy frying pan.

Pancakes. That utter bastard had made pancakes.

She watched as he flipped them, every time he did so her eyes narrowed even more.

He was talking about something, but she was only half listening, her eyes fixed on the frying pan and its dastardly contents.

'Please let it be burnt to a cinder. _Please.' _She begged the Maker.

But when he came over and slid three perfectly golden, beautifully formed pancakes onto her plate and handed her the boat of (_Warm!_ Damn him,) syrup she knew she was asking for the impossible.

She had promised herself she would only eat toast.

But... there were _pancakes!_

She was faced with a dilemma.

Pancakes or pride?

Pride or pancakes?

She breathed in the scent of the fresh cooking and looked at the boat of warm, golden syrup in one hand.

Pancakes won.

Just this once.

As she poured the thick syrup over the stupid food, Anders turned back to the stove.

His lips set in what was dangerously close to a smirk, he switched the stove off.

"If you want," he started deviously, "I can burn the toast next time."

She looked at him with a mouth full of food. Her hair was a mess and she was still in her nightclothes, a too big dressing gown draped over her shoulders.

"You'd better." She said, fixing him with a look and waving her fork at him.

He idly thought that it would have been more intimidating if she hadn't had syrup smeared down one side of her mouth.

* * *

><p><em>3. Earring<em>

"What?" he asked.

He was feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

Isabella was staring at him. Or more accurately, she was starring at his ear.

"_What?_"

She smiled. It set him on edge.

"Oh nothing. Just wondering about the story behind the earring."

He looked at her searchingly.

"Oh? And why would you want to know that?" he asked, suspicious. This was after all, Isabella.

"Curiosity."

"Right." He said, drawing out the word.

She pouted.

"You don't trust me?" she asked, trying to look innocent.

"Not a bit."

She huffed. Then she grinned.

"Oh? You tell me the story and I won't tell Hawke about _it._"

He turned to face her fully.

"You _wouldn't._"

He knew full well that she would.

She just sat there, grinning.

"Fine. Stuff happened. I got my ear pierced. The end."

She poked him in the arm.

"Tell me the whole story _in detail_, or I walk right now and tell Hawke."

Anders was about to open his mouth to reply when he was interrupted. By the absolute last person he wanted to be there.

Varric raised an eyebrow.

"What whole story?"

The blonde man swore under his breath.

Isabella was more than happy to enlighten the dwarf.

"Oh Anders was just about to tell me the story of how he got his earring. Want to listen?"

Varric looked interestedly at the mage who scowled.

He dwarf sat down and placed his flagon on the table. The Hanged Man wasn't busy and for that, Anders was grateful.

"So," Isabella began, her eyes shining, "how old were you?"

Anders shifted.

Varric took a drink, keeping his eyes fixed on the cornered mage.

"Well?" he prompted.

He sighed.

"Sixteen."

Isabella nodded eagerly.

"Go on."

Anders sat back resignedly and took a swig of whatever swill was in his cup.

"I was still in the Circle then, I think it was my," he paused, thinking, "third escape attempt."

Varric raised an eyebrow.

"'Third escape attempt'? he quoted, "How many times _did_ you try and escape?"

"Seven at the last count." He said nonchalantly.

Isabella whistled.

"You escaped the circle seven times? Surely they got a bit tired of having to drag you back?"

He shrugged.

"Probably. After the sixth time, they put me in solitary confinement for a whole year." He gave a slight shudder, "I still get a little claustrophobic sometimes."

Varric, sensing the dangerousness of the topic, brought it around.

"So why didn't they throw you out?"

Anders gave a slight smile.

"I was very good at what I did."

Varric accepted the evasive answer as Isabella pouted. She prompted him to go on.

"Well, I'd got out and was in some little town. Pickett? Somewhere to the west. Anyway, I was pretty dead on my feet and through a certain series of events that shall never be retold, some nice young girl offered me a place to stay."

Isabella sniggered.

"I can see where this is going." She muttered.

He carried on and pretended he hadn't heard her.

"Anyway, I stayed there for a while. I guess I should have moved on but, well, I guess I got comfortable. The one day she comes in and she's scared out of her wits and crying like nothing else. I asked her what was wrong and she tells me her husband is back in town."

Varric winced.

"Exactly. And then, just my luck, you know what her husband did for a living?" he asked rhetorically. "He was a Templar."

"Oh boy."

"Apparently, there was a gossip mill in town and the husband had heard that there was some strange man living with his wife. So she comes in to warn me. There we are, panicking, and she suddenly comes up with an idea. There was this clan of monks just a little way south of the town and sometimes they visited."

He paused in his rendition of the tale and saw that Isabella was hanging on his every word, no doubt hoping for something else she could blackmail him with. He took another drink of ale.

"Well, she told me that all these monks have their right ear pierced. Don't ask me why, I never found out. So she runs up to her bedroom and brings down one of her earrings she never wore and the biggest needle I ever saw in my life. And believe me, the needle they use to get blood for phylacteries was pretty damn big."

He took another drink.

"So she tells me to sit down and then she comes in with a bowl of water, 'to wash to blood off' she said. Then she grabs my ear and just stabs this massive needle right through, no warning! She jams this ring through the hole and tells me it's done. I swear I was in shock."

Varric raised an eyebrow. Apparently his own piercings hadn't been quite so traumatic.

"So to make a long story short, the husband came home ready to kill me but calmed down when he saw that I was _obviously_ a celibate monk who had no interest in his wife. I left pretty soon after that."

He finished his tale and finished the liquid in the cup.

"So," Isabella began uncertainly, "you got your ear pieced so you could pretend you were a monk to avoid an angry husband who just so happened to be a Templar?"

"That sounds about right." He confirmed.

Varric grinned.

"Blondie my friend, you are a source of constant amusement. And to think I thought you did it just to look better for the ladies."

Anders snorted.

"Is that _your_ reason? Because I must say Varric, it works so well."

Isabella laughed.

"Don't worry Varric, he's just jealous that you can work the ponytail and earring look better than he can."

"I'm afraid the only story behind the hair is that I'm used to it." The mage admitted.

Isabella looked at him critically.

"Maybe you should cut it."

His eyes widened.

"No!"

"But, why not? _I_ think it would look good."

"I'm not cutting my hair."

"But _why?_"

"Because I don't want to."

Varric smiled conspiratorially.

"It's because you're trying to compete with me isn't it?" he sighed "It's such a terrible burden you know, to be so attractive."

"Yes Varric, you've caught me." He said flatly, "I can't see why anyone _wouldn't_ want to be just like you."

"You know why I think he won't cut it? I think Hawke likes it. Gives her something to hold on to, you know?"

Anders wrinkled his nose at the sniggering dwarf and ignored the guffaws from the woman opposite.

"Well aren't _you_ a dirty little dwarf."

* * *

><p><em>End <em>

_Review and give me more ideas! Give me plots!_


	2. Four, Five, Six

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Dragon Age or any of its affiliates. Anything that you recognise is property of its respective owners. Any relations to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

_Base/s:_ Dragon Age

_Title:_ A Wizard Did It

_Summary:_ A series of oneshots and drabbles starring our favourite rebel mage and his partner, the esteemed Champion of Kirkwall. FemHawke/Anders

_Music used for inspiration:_

* * *

><p><em>4. Early Bird<em>

If there was one positive thing to waking up earlier than usual, Hawke thought, this had to be it.

Usually, by the time she had woken herself up and actually gotten out of bed, Anders would already be downstairs cooking breakfast for her and whoever was down in time.

Ever since he moved in, it was an unspoken rule. Do not disturb the mage when he was cooking. Hawke wouldn't forgive them if they did.

But today, for whatever reason, she was awake before he was. She had absolutely no clue as to what time it was and right now, she didn't care.

She held her breath as she stared at the man opposite her. He was lying on his side and oddly enough, curled up. She repressed a giggle. One hand was lying just in front of his face and his breathing was deep and steady. She wanted to coo but restrained herself.

She watched him for a while but after a few minutes, she couldn't help herself.

Trying not to laugh, she took a breath and blew softly.

She pressed a hand over her mouth when she saw him scrunch his nose and shift in his sleep.

She couldn't resist. She did it again. This time, he moved the hand by his face so it covered his nose, like a cat. Before she could stop herself, she let out a little noise. If only they could see him now. Big bad Anders, asleep and adorable in the morning.

She couldn't see his face with his hand where it was, so she gently reached out and tried to move it. Sadly, he seemed to notice and she saw his eyelids flutter open.

Seeing the drowsy look in his tawny eyes, she smiled.

"Hello."

He blinked and then blinked again, trying to wake himself up.

"Hawke?" he mumbled.

"I would hope so. Who else would be in bed with you hmm?" she teased.

His brain had finally decided to make an appearance, because his lips twitched and he brought up a hand to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Why are you awake so early?" he asked.

She shrugged as well as she could when she was lying on her side.

He made a contented noise in the back of his throat.

"Since you're actually awake, what do you fancy this morning?"

She had to think about that one.

"Pancakes?" she asked, hopeful.

"We're out of flour."

"Surprise me then."

He smiled again and this time it was tinged with deviousness.

"Don't I always?" she sighed in contentment as he played with her hair. "By the way, what were you doing?" he asked.

"What?" she asked absently.

"Before. You were doing something with my hand."

"Oh. I couldn't see your face."

"I understand Varric now. It really _is_ a curse to be so attractive."

She laughed.

Really, mornings were best.

* * *

><p><em>5. Dead On Your Feet<em>

Hawke was less than pleased.

If one person needed _immediate_ medical attention this many times, they had to be a medical miracle.

It didn't help that the woman in question's chest was bigger than hers.

Really, Hawke wished she had her knives. Though the ones lying next to the table might have been for medical purposes only, she was sure she could put them to better use.

She had volunteered to help Anders at his clinic in Darktown. When she had offered, she had assumed he would have her running around carrying bottles of disgusting goo and mashed whatever. But to her confusion, he had her on security. Well, patient security. It being Darktown, the residents were less than savoury and so disagreements often broke out over who got the mages healing touch first. Anders had warned her, using that _look_, that any force was to be non-lethal. Hence, her weapons were in the corner. Well, _most_ of her weapons were in the corner. Still, she felt almost naked with only three knives, a knuckleduster and a poisoned dagger.

She huffed and the look on her face would have deterred any possible violence from the queuing patients.

She heard the stupid creature simpering about how whatever was wrong this time was _so _awful and that she just didn't feel _safe_ anywhere but at the clinic.

She wondered if there was any way to cause accidental facial disfigurement. Or if there was a potion that decrease the size of one's chest.

She caught the eye of one of the other volunteers and felt her lips twitch as the woman rolled her eyes. Hawke liked the other woman, Marta already had a girlfriend and was a nice as anyone could be. Usually.

Finally, after a whole half an hour of wanting to stick a knife where knives shouldn't go, the balloon chested monstrosity was finally asked to sit in a corner and do breathing exercises. Hawke was reminded of something Isabella had once said; 'Lyrium breasts'.

There was a hand on her shoulder. Apparently Marta had become worried at her silent laughter and come over to ask if she needed medical attention.

She shared the joke and the two women shared a girly moment. Hawke would deny it ever happened later.

She heard Anders' voice raise itself over the din and ask that if there were no life threatening injuries, he was taking a break. There was some grumbling but everyone knew not to take offense. Healing was strenuous work.

He walked over and flopped down next to her, leaning back until his head hit the wall behind him. He closed his eyes.

"How are you doing?"

Her answer was a groan.

She sighed and nudged him, forcing him to open his eyes and lift his head. She handed him a cup of tea which he took gratefully.

"How do you do it?" she asked, watching as he cupped the mug in both hands, breathing in the steam.

"Do what? Keep healing people?"

She shook her head.

"I know how you do that. Magic, talent and bucket loads of tea. I want to know how you handle things like _that."_ She said, gesturing with her head at the thing in the corner that was still practicing the Triangle of Breathing.

He snorted before taking a deep drink of the scalding tea.

"I make them do ridiculous breathing exercises."

A devious smile crossed her lips.

"Ahh, I wondered why she seemed so good at them."

"If she were fatally ill the amount of times she says she is, she'd be dead by now." He said flatly before yawning. His hands shook as he held the mug. She gently prised it from his fingers.

"You are not going back up there." She said, stern.

"But-"

"You're dead on your feet. Now I'm going to tell this lot to bugger off and when I get back we are going home and you are going straight to bed."

He just nodded, too tired to argue any more.

"Yes ma'am." He smiled weakly, struggling to keep his eyes open. That was thing with Spirit Healers, it took so much of their own energy to perform the feats they did.

She got up and walked towards the crowd who were getting antsy.

"Excuse me!" she called. She repeated herself until she had everyone's attention. "I must apologise but I'm going to have to ask you all to come back tomorrow."

Before she could finish, there was uproar.

When she finally got quiet, or some semblance of it, she was less than happy.

She glanced over at where she had left the healer and saw that his head had dropped onto his chest and he had dozed off. How he could sleep with that amount of noise was beyond her.

"Look." She said simply and they did. They fell quiet when they saw their would-be saviour passed out where he had sat down. They murmured and trickled out of the doors. There would be some volunteers who would take the next shift and patch up any minor ailments.

She walked over to the mage and nudged him, feeling guilty when his eyes opened.

"C'mon." She said, offering a hand. He took it and hauled himself up.

She could see his eyes drooping even as he walked, with her support, back to her house.

"No falling asleep until I put you in bed." she chided.

He managed a weak grin.

"A little forward tonight aren't we?" he said.

"I was going to say I might have to lock you up to make sure you went to sleep but I seem to remember you saying something about that."

"I remember. I called you sweetheart."

"You did. For the first and last time."

Neither Hawke nor Anders were big on pet names.

They walked in silence for a while until they reached the Amell house.

Quietly, so as not to disturb the other residents of the house, they made their way to Hawke's room. Their room.

"Now, bed." She said, firmly.

"I don't know what I'd do without you." He said, only half joking.

"Die of tea deprivation." She said dryly, watching as he stripped off his shirt.

"You _do_ make the best tea."

"I can't make anything else, I have to be good at it."

Her eyes followed him as he fell into bed, his eyes drooping as soon as his head hit the pillow.

She watched fondly as his breathing evened and his muscles relaxed before changing into her night clothes and slipping under the covers. Maybe they could sleep in late in the morning.

She blew out the candle on the bedside table and moved closer to the warmth of the man beside her.

Yes, maybe they could do that.

* * *

><p><em>6. Shady Dealings<em>

When Hawke walking into the clinic, she didn't expect to see Varric and Anders standing in a shadowy corner talking hurriedly with one another, their heads bent. Suspicious didn't even cover it.

Varric produced a pouch that looked to be full of coins and he handed it to the mage who accepted it. He weighed it in his hand before raising an eyebrow. The dwarf sighed and produced another pouch. The mage took it with a smug look on his face and the money disappeared into his coat. He surreptitiously handed the dwarf a small, grease wrapped package which was gone from view as fast as the money.

They exchanged words before straightening. Varric headed for the exit, nodding to Hawke as he passed.

She approached the mage, curious.

"Well that looked," she struggled to find the proper word. "shady."

He turned when he heard her voice, not having realised she was there.

"You saw that? It's just a little business."

"And?"

He looked her square in the eye.

"You don't want to know."

"But-"

"Suffice to say, it involves Varric, Bianca and a certain form of herbal lubricant." He said, a twinkle in his eye.

Hawke blinked.

"You're right. I didn't want to know."

* * *

><p>Elsewhere, Varric was cleaning his beloved crossbow. He would have to thank the mage again; Bianca could loose arrows twice as fast now. That herb worked wonders on her stiff joints!<p>

* * *

><p><em>End<em>

_Another few done. Remember, send me your ideas!_


	3. Seven, Eight, Nine

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Dragon Age or any of its affiliates. Anything that you recognise is property of its respective owners. Any relations to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

_Base/s:_ Dragon Age

_Title:_ A Wizard Did It

_Summary:_ A series of oneshots and drabbles starring our favourite rebel mage and his partner, the esteemed Champion of Kirkwall. FemHawke/Anders

_Music used for inspiration:_

* * *

><p><em>7. Sweet<em>

Hawke smiled as she looked at the unopened present in front of her. It was her birthday and she and 'the team' were celebrating. She'd thanked Varric for the new journal he'd bought her, seeing as she'd filled her old one. Isabella had very kindly acquired the most beautiful scarf. She didn't ask where it came from. Fenris, surly as ever, had pressed an amulet layered with protective spells into her hand before secluding himself as far from the two mages as he could.

Avaline had been kind enough to buy those new boots she'd been eyeing and Merrill had shyly given her a handmade _something_ that was apparently some form of Dalish good luck charm. Bethany had sent her fond regards in a long letter and her mother had spoiled her with the prettiest dress she'd ever seen.

So now it was time for Anders' gift.

It was square. She shook it slightly while holding it up to her ear, hoping to find out what it was.

She looked at him, hoping for a hint but he just shook his head and gestured for her to open it, a small smile on his lips.

She carefully peeled back the paper, never having been one to tear the wrappings off, and she laid her eyes on a simple, polished wood box.

She idly noted that her friends (with the exception of Fenris, since, well, it was _Fenris_) were leaning forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of what the mage had bought for his lover.

Casting the paper to the side, she lifted the lid.

She gasped and her eyes widened. A grin threatened to split her face.

She looked up and threw herself at the surprised mage who accepted the tackle that knocked the air from his lungs.

"Thank you _so much! _It's so _sweet_!"

Varric, who was looking slightly disturbed, cast a glance at the box, whose lid had fallen closed.

"What is _in_ there?" Aveline asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Isabella agreed since she reached over and lifted the lid wide open for all to see.

Merrill looked confused.

"Is this," she gestured to the contents of the box, "usual for humans to give as gifts to their _sa'lath?"_

Having prised the meaning of the word from Merrill some time ago, Isabella rolled her eyes.

"No. But it makes sense that Hawke would go all gooey over a new set of knives."

Aveline was staring at the knives, which were, she had to admit, vicious. They had cruel, serrated edges and the metal glinted in the light. The wraps were coarse and firm, just as they should be.

She shook her head in exasperation.

"Honestly, knives aren't _sweet." _

Isabella got a glint in her eye.

"Maybe that's what you should have tried when you were wooing Donnic. I mean, if _Blondie_ can get it right..."

The Guard Captain spared the seafarer a withering stare.

"Don't even _go_ there."

Varric shrugged.

"I guess if it makes Hawke happy..."

Isabella looked at the woman who was smiling enough to bruise her cheeks as she carefully handled her new toys.

"If she gets to call her knives _sweet_ then I should be allowed to call my model ships _cute."_

* * *

><p><em>8. Advice<em>

Aveline had a problem. A rather large problem. The problem being, even if she didn't want to admit it, she wasn't sure how to get her husband, Donnic, to spend some quality time alone with her. She understood their job was hectic, but really, a whole week?

She needed advice. But who to ask? Isabella was out of the question. There was nothing that led to an argument faster than the subject of Aveline's love life.

Fenris was no doubt brooding somewhere and didn't want to be disturbed. Varric might help, but would just as likely retell it as a story. She didn't want all of Kirkwall gossiping about her love life thank you very much.

Merrill? The sweet girl wouldn't know 'alone time' if it hit her in the face.

Hawke, she paused. Actually, that was a good idea. Hawke had a lover, maybe it was best to ask advice from her. After all, she had helped Aveline with the 'little problem' she'd had when Donnic was nothing more than a guard under her command.

Yes, she decided, she would go and ask Hawke.

* * *

><p>Aveline was frustrated. Where could the woman have gotten to? She'd looked for her at her house in Highown, her Uncle's place in Lowtown, all the marketplaces in the city and the Viscounts Keep. She'd found neither hide nor hair of the other woman.<p>

She was hit with a sudden brainwave that Hawke might just be helping out at Anders' clinic. Wrinkling her nose at the thought of venturing into Darktown, she set off.

As she entered the clinic, she saw that it was far from busy. A few people milled about and were being patched up by volunteers and she spotted Anders' in one corner, working with a mortar and pestle. She walked over and he looked up when he heard he draw close.

"Aveline." He greeted, "What can I do for you?"

"Have you seen Hawke?" she asked, hoping the woman was present.

To her dismay, he shook his head.

"I haven't seen her since this morning. I think she's gone to the Wounded Coast to deliver something to somebody. She took Varric and Merrill with her as I recall." He said. "What did you need her for?"

Aveline sighed.

"I just wanted her advice on something." She admitted.

He looked slightly surprised.

"Oh. I can try and help, if you want?" he offered and she raised an eyebrow.

"I hardly think it's something you can help with."

"You'd be surprised." He said, a small smile gracing his face.

Aveline snorted and threw up her hands.

"Fine, fine. Don't say you didn't ask for it." She warned before launching into an edited version of her current troubles. To his credit, he listened and didn't speak until she was finished.

"So you see, I didn't know who else to ask and – and oh! It's all such a mess." She finished huffing and crossing her arms. She was well aware she was being juvenile, and frankly, could have cared less.

Both eyebrows slightly raised, the mage opposite spoke.

"In my experience, men like Guardsman Donnic usually wait for _you_ to make a move on _them._"

She gave him a look.

"In your _experience?"_

"Well, yes. And it is a vast experience I can assure you." He said, a slight grin making its way onto his face.

"I didn't need to know that." She muttered. "But how do _you_ know what men like my husband are like?"

He sighed and gave her a pointed look.

"I was rather... free, in my youth." He said, his lips twisting into a smirk smile. "And it wasn't always women who caught my attention."

Aveline raised both eyebrows. Huh.

"Oh." She said, not really knowing what to say.

"So, do you want my advice or not?"

She weighed the options in her mind.

* * *

><p>Isabella raised her eyebrows as the Guardswoman walked over to their table in the Hanged Man. She sat herself down and gave a cheerful greeting to the three other women at the table.<p>

"And what has _you_ so happy I wonder?" Hawke asked, inquisitive.

Aveline smiled.

"Oh, not much."

Isabella let a lopsided smirk attach itself to her face.

"Only one thing can make a woman act like _that._ Don't you agree Hawke?" she said, jabbing playfully at the red haired woman. Hawke got a glint in her eye and nodded, smiling. Merrill looked a little lost.

"Um, what thing?" she asked. Isabella looked at the young elf fondly.

"Think about it Kitten, it'll come to you."

Aveline shook her head.

"You can dampen my mood today Isabella." She said firmly.

"I don't think it was your _mood_ that was dampened-"

Aveline, for once, ignored her.

"I'll only say one thing." She said, raising her voice slightly. "If you ever need advice on men, drop in on the clinic." She turned to Hawke and looked her in the eye. "You're man's got some great advice."

Isabella _really_ wanted to know. Hawke was looking a little nonplussed.

"Advice on _what_?"

Aveline fought to keep her face straight as her playful side, the one she usually kept hidden, reared its head.

"How to get men into bed of course."

* * *

><p><em>9. Calm<em>

He sat stroking her hair absently, watching the browning leaves sway in the cold air. The sun was warm, and chased away the chill that came with autumn – yet the tip of his nose was freezing, while the weight of her body warmed more than just his skin.

He heard her sigh as he idly ran his fingers through her locks. There was nothing pressing to be doing, the clinic could survive a day without him, it wasn't raining outside, and he was _relaxed._ Something that rarely happened.

On impulse, he bent down and kissed her cheek. She sighed contently and opened an eye to look up at his face. The sun made his hair almost unbearable to look at, and she had to focus on his lips to avoid the blinding gold that made her eyes hurt. He bent down again, this time capturing her mouth and kissing her deeply. She looked so delicious, lying in his lap with her hair spilled out around her head, and he just couldn't resist. His hands left her hair while his tongue slipped past her lips and her hand fisted his shirt.

Touching her neck, his fingers lightly traced patterns that caused her to shiver. She made a little noise in the back of her throat as his kiss deepened, her hands coming up to grasp the back of his neck as his dropped down to caress the side of her torso. The sensations of her eager tongue and arching body were almost nothing compared to the pressure applied by her head resting in his lap. It drove him mad, and he nearly snapped when she broke their kiss to smirk and turn her head to lay it on the side; completely ignoring his growling. Her eyes closed again, and as soon as it started, it was over.

He sat incensed, contemplating his next move. Should he try and calm down, resuming the peaceful nothingness that had taken place mere minutes ago, or should he act upon his impulses? Choices, choices...

She took matters into her own hands, when she shifted in his lap and gave a teasing little grin that held a trace of wickedness. That look on her face and the whisperless promises made him very willing to give in to a rather primitive state of mind. She could undo him like nothing else could.

His movements were quick, holding her head up and lowering it to the floor while removing himself from underneath her. He almost jumped over her, pinning her down with his body and capturing her lips in searing kisses. Her eyes were open, twinkling with mischief. But as his hands roamed her body, caressing sensitive skin and ridding her of the restriction of clothes, the twinkle faded into something a little more heated.

He didn't know if it was a good or bad thing, but this was a normal occurrence between them. It was little wonder the moments of calm were so short-lived.

* * *

><p><em>Sa'lath means something like 'One love' in Dragon Age Elvish. It says so in the DA wiki page!<em>

_Any suggestions of plotlets? Ideas? ANYTHING?_


	4. Ten, Eleven, Twelve

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Dragon Age or any of its affiliates. Anything that you recognise is property of its respective owners. Any relations to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

_Base/s:_ Dragon Age

_Title:_ A Wizard Did It

_Summary:_ A series of oneshots and drabbles starring our favourite rebel mage and his partner, the esteemed Champion of Kirkwall. FemHawke/Anders

_Music used for inspiration:_

_A/N: Yes, I know they're not all humerous. But the majority will be smile worthy at least. I hope. _

* * *

><p><em>10. Subjugation <em>

He saw the bruises.

He saw the blackened eye, the gash on his cheek and the yellow, discoloured flesh on his ribs. He let his eyes rake over the blood trickling from his hairline and the red smear on his neck. He observed the shoulder blade, sticking out at an unnatural angle and the ragged, red stained blonde hair that hung over his eyes, one of which was swollen and half closed, tawny brown peeking out from under red inked lashes.

He ghosted gentle, battle coursed hands over the scars, both old and new, that lined his skin and knew, without seeing them in the mirror, that his back showed the same. Some wounds were not yet scars, and some only half healed, the flesh knitting together in its own way and leaving thick, ropy tracks of scar tissue wheeling across the planes of his body.

His eyes flickered across his wrists where the purpled skin, fading into sickly yellow at the edges, marked where the manacles had been and stayed for far too long.

His hands shook as they traced the welts on his neck, memories of the collar, iron and with a chain attached.

With a shaky breath he knotted his hands and closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories of the past, but to no avail. His shoulders shook and through the years, he could feel the pain even though he knew his body was unhurt.

Panic, anger and desperation welled up inside him. He saw flashes behind his closed eyes.

A friend, his eyes blank and dull, asking what was wrong, why was he looking at him like that?

A lover, her throat rent open in a hideous mockery of a smile, her hands scrabbling at the wound, her eyes desperate and manic, her only crime having the courage to speak out.

A teacher, stern but understanding, empty and lifeless but a day later.

_Something_ rent form his throat, and his knees went weak as he wrapped his arms around himself and gripped so hard the flesh under his fingers went white.

He wanted to smash the mirror but couldn't bring himself to reach out.

A hand descended onto his shoulder, warm and rough. He jumped and his muscles tensed. A breath forced its way into his lungs and he jerked around, his eyes finding hers.

Her face was solemn as she stood there.

He stuttered out her name through dry lips, his eyes wide and frenzied.

She whispered a word that could have been his name and allowed him to cling to her, bringing them both down to the floor to sprawl, he in her arms as his memories fought between themselves for first right to torture him further.

"I hate them." He whispered. "I hate them, I hate them, I hate them."

A tear slipped from her eye as she held him close.

"I know."

She bit her lip as she lent her chin on top of his head.

They would pay.

They would pay for making this strong man, a man so strong in convictions and unbreakable in spirit, crumble under the weight of his own torment.

She would _break_ them for this.

* * *

><p><em>11. Idle Conversation<em>

"Oi, Blondie."

Ander sighed. Why was he cursed to be friends with people that gave him stupid nicknames? First he was 'Sparklefingers' and now he was 'Blondie'. He didn't know which irked him more.

"_Yes_ Varric?"

The dwarf laughed.

"You're face is worse than an ogre, and your mood isn't great either." He commented. "What's got you surlier than usual?"

Anders gave him a look.

"I'm thinking on how many different spells I know that would make a dwarf shut his mouth."

"What have_ I_ done?"

Varric held up his hands, the innocent look ruined by the smirk on his face.

"You insist on calling me 'Blondie'." He said the word as though it was something foul. "It's better than 'Sparklefingers' I suppose." He muttered under his breath.

The dwarf - curse his hearing - heard him. He roared with laughter.

"Sparklefingers? _Sparklefingers?_" he repeated, incredulous. "Who called you that?" he wiggled his eyebrows. "It's not a _special_ nickname, if you know what I mean?"

Anders looked vaguely nauseated.

"No. I think it's a dwarf thing, making up stupid nicknames. Maybe your brains are too small to remember names properly." He snarked.

Varric chuckled.

"Nice one. Seriously though, who called you that and _why?"_

Anders gained a faraway look and a small smile.

"Just an old friend I had when I was a Warden. Not that we'd ever stop insulting each other to admit it." He said. "I think he once asked me why mages wear robes."

He snickered and didn't elaborate. Varric raised an eyebrow. He was going to have to get that story. He had a brainwave and tried to refrain from sniggering.

"So," he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice. Anders wasn't fooled. "_Has_ Hawke got any special nicknames for you?"

He cackled at the look on Mages face.

* * *

><p><em>12. House Call<em>

When Anders heard the hammering on his door at three in the morning, he knew it was nothing good. Years of paranoia had him wide awake and getting up from his bed, shrugging on his coat and grabbing his staff.

The banging had woken up a few patients who were staying the night and Anders scowled.

There was yelling coming from the entrance to the hidden clinic, as he hurried past, he saw a little girl, no older than six, shivering under her bedsheets. She'd had a nasty infection and was staying the night. There was another bang and she squeaked, terrified.

"Open up!"

Anders put his game face on. Coterie.

He yanked open the door and stood, glaring at the group who had disturbed his place of healing.

He counted six of them, only two of which looked like they knew which end to hold a sword. Insulting.

"Can I _help_ you gentlemen?" he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. He was weary, sleep deprived and generally irritable at two in the morning. These fine gentlemen had graciously volunteered to bear the brunt of his temper.

One, who appeared to be their leader took a step forward, easily towering over the smaller mage. Anders raised an eyebrow, what did they _feed_ these people?

"Yeah. We was just thinkin', important place like this, wouldn' want anything to happen to it, would we?" the large man said, a grin on his face. His comrades sniggered stupidly.

Anders was less than impressed.

"I would hope not." He said, giving the lead moron the 'look'. "This is place of healing, it would hope no one would stoop low enough to threaten it."

The bigger man looked happy someone was co-operating.

"Exactly! We would be 'appy to provide protection." He paused before continuing, a shrewd look in his face. "For a modest fee o' course."

Anders raised an eyebrow.

"So," he began, "You turn up at two in the damn morning and expect _me_ to pay _you_ to protect my clinic? I don't think so."

A scowl made its way onto the faces of the gang.

"You _are_ gonna pay." Growled one, standing at the back.

"No," the mage said slowly, as though talking to a very small child. "I'm really not."

The leader drew a wicked knife from a sheath on his belt. The metal glinted in the light from the burning torches.

"You _are._"

Anders mentally sighed. Subtle, these men were most certainly not. He shifted slightly and took his weight off his staff. 'Leader' proved he had more brain cells than his face implied and tensed. Mages were always hazardous opponents. Always. And from the rumours circling the underworld, the former Grey Warden who ran the clinic was especially dangerous indeed.

Anders smiled and only he would have seen the humour in it.

"So," he said brightly, "Why don't I let you attack me all at once?" Their faces clearly showed they thought he was mad.

"You know," he said slowly, and something glimmered in his eye, "to give you a fighting chance and all."

* * *

><p>The mage sighed as he looked over the broken, unconscious bodies of the gang. He hadn't killed them, and would deliver them to the Coterie unhealed as a warning. And if one or two expired before they were picked up? Well, that wasn't his problem now was it?<p>

One of them groaned, and Anders looked down dispassionately.

"You're lucky, you know." He murmured. "If Hawke had been here, she would have killed you for interrupting her beauty sleep."


End file.
